The sweat. The fresh mowed grass. The new quaffles. The shining snitch. The waxed brooms. The perfect tips. The dry heat. The whistling wind. The roaring crowd. The chanting. The name calling. The boos. This was for one game. This was for a few hours, or maybe a few days. This was more than just a sport, it was an addiction. This was Quidditch. This was my game.

I loved Quidditch ever since I was little. My father had always been a big Quidditch fan. I think I learned how to fly on a broom before I waved a wand. I could throw a quaffle before I could walk. My father had tried to get my other sisters into playing, but they weren’t like me. They didn’t have the dedication and drive that I did. I was willing to sacrifice everything just to make that final goal. I got that all from my father.

You have to understand that for a rookie, the first official game of the season is nerve wrecking. Not only have I had many different reporters trying to get quotes from me, but I had far too many articles written about me. I had articles written about how I fly to how I dress (I got yelled at by Sally for not dressing right according to Witch Weekly). I think other teams could learn more about me if they just read all the articles rather than watch me play, honestly.

James Potter would never be able to say he had more pressure going on his first game than I did. Sure, he had a retired Quidditch playing mom and a very famous Father, but I still beat him. Well, maybe. I wouldn’t be able to hear his bragging about how he had more pressure than I did. James wouldn’t talk to me. Hell, he wouldn’t even look at me. He barely passed to me during practice anymore. He only did it when Coach yelled at him for not passing it to me. Even then I nearly broke my fingers off with how hard he threw it.

Why was James so mad at me, might you ask? Maybe it’s because I’m an insensitive prick. Maybe because I decided to sleep with a guy, pretend to be his girlfriend, embarrass him in front of family and friends, sleep with his cousin, and not tell him about my ex-fiance. Not in any particular order, of course. I felt guilty, I really did. I hadn’t ever treated James the best, but we weren’t really dating, so that didn’t mean I had to, right?

He was still my teammate. He was still my fellow chaser. I had to treat him with respect, even if he was a jerk sometimes. I couldn’t let myself fall apart the day of a big Qudditch match. It wouldn’t happen. I wouldn’t allow it to happen. We’d have to fight another day. This was the reason you don’t get into relationships while you play Quidditch. Not that I was really in one, but still you see my point.

I poured myself a cup of fresh coffee (definitely not tea, that stuff was disgusting). The locker rooms were empty. The team didn’t start to arrive until two hours before the game. I had been up all night tossing and turning, so it didn’t pay to stay in bed until it was time to go to the stadium. The day of my first professional game as a Meteorite was just like this. Except I felt more nervous than ever right now.

The butterflies flew so much in my stomach that I was sure I was going to vomit. I knew coffee would be the only thing that could go down right now. I had bad experiences with nerve vomit. It was not pleasant, nor did it stop until I hit the pitch. That was something I did not want to think about right now. Vomiting wasn’t something that I wanted to be photographed doing on my first official game day as a Falcon.

I crossed the carpeted locker room floor and placed my hand on the embroidered white locker. It was taller than me. I ran my hand along the slick wooden material that had formed such a beautiful six letter name: JACOBS. I smiled to myself, taking another sip of my coffee. I opened my locker door, letting my eyes wander over every part of my uniform. My slick jersey, my tight slacks, my black embroidered tennis shoes, and my---

Wait, where the hell was my lucky bra?

I began to viciously tear through my locker. I threw everything out of it, turning it inside out. I found a pair of old socks, a few broken quills (I’m not quite sure how those got in there), but no lucky bra. I felt panic creeping up my spine. I never played without my lucky bra. When I grew a size, I made sure to make the bra grow a size too. Call me superstitious, but it was a good luck charm.

Now it was gone.

Was this a sick joke that the rest of the team played on me? Did they think I’d find this funny? I was going to rip their heads off. I was going to kill them. They’d be lucky if we could play today. They’d be lucky if they played ever. I was fuming. I was more than fuming, I was pissed. I was going to kill them. The first person I’d kill?

I think my pillow still smelled like her. I buried my head further into it, inhaling. Yup, it definitely smelled of her coconut shampoo. I think she did it on purpose. She wanted me to think about her whenever I went to bed. That American tease. They were all like that. I slept with one over the summer. She was just as bad as Gigi was. I groaned, rolling over so I didn’t have to smell my pillow.

I pushed the thought of Gigi out of my head (which is a lot harder than you think). Today was the big day. It was the opening game and the first day as a captain. I pictured shaking Igor Krum’s hand today. I had practiced with Freddie just how hard to shake for it to be threatening, but not too hard to get called on it by the refs. I had practiced my pump up speech in front of the mirror multiple times last night. I was ready.

I might be lying a bit. I wasn’t ready. Normally, I was the most loved person on the pitch. People proposed to me while I played for Merlin’s sake! I knew today would be different. I may have just been made captain, but most eyes would be on Gigi. Selfish, egotistical Gigi Jacobs. I grunted, rolling onto my side. Gigi bloody Jacobs. What a joke.

I understand that we’re supposed to be fake dating, but if she was really my girlfriend, I would break up with her. Who doesn’t tell their fake boyfriend about their ex-fiance? Even if Gigi and I weren’t “dating”, I would still be this irate at her for not telling me. We were teammates. More than that, we were chasers. Chasers are supposed to be closer than close. Maybe not shagging like Gigi and I did, but damn close.

Okay, maybe it had to do with the fact that I had shagged Gigi. I mean, come on! At least have some courtesy to tell me you were going to get married to some bloke. Getting blind sided by you yelling things to your mother about him is not the way for me to figure out, let me tell you. Especially since I think I would make fantastic rebound arse. I’m a great shag.

I was almost back asleep when I heard a pounding at my door. It was like someone was trying to break it down. I moaned, not wanting to get up. It was probably Matt waking me up to go cook breakfast at Gigi’s apartment. I didn’t want to cook her bloody breakfast. She didn’t deserve it. Matt could do it by himself (though he’d probably burn the whole complex down).

“I don’t cook for slags!” I called in hopes Matt would hear me. Instead there was just more pounding on the door. Did Matt forget that I leave my door open or something?

I pushed myself out of bed reluctantly. There better be a damn good reason why Matt was ruining my beauty sleep on game day. I needed to be pretty for all of the press. It was only bloody seven o’clock in the morning! I’d kill Matt Hankin if it was the last thing I do, I swear. No one would know the difference anyways. They’d probably think Gigi did it. I snorted. Maybe I should.

I pulled open the door, rubbing my eyes like a child. Everything was still blurry. You don’t just wake up with 20/20 vision, it slowly comes back to you over time. That’s why I say don’t wake up too late on game day. You won’t see a bludger until it is on top of you. It happened to Freddie way too much back in the day.

Just when I thought I was going to see Matt’s grinning face, I was greeted with Gigi’s glare. Her green eyes were on fire as she looked ready to kill me. I yawned at her, crossing my arms. She was a little bit scary, but it didn’t show on my face. Plus, the anger was a little set off by the fact that her cleavage was right in my face. She had a fantastic rack, let me tell you. I can be mad at her and still admire it.

“What now, Jacobs?” I grumbled, staring down at her. She was a good head shorter than me, but that didn’t seem to bother her. You can’t intimidate Gigi Jacobs.

“I’m not playing games, Potter,” She hissed, shoving me out of her way and going into my flat. I wanted to rub my shoulder from the impact, but resisted. I was a man. I was tough.

“What are you going on about now?” I asked, shutting the door. She was searching every nook and cranny of my apartment. She was turning over couch cushions, looking behind pillows, and checking behind my wiz telly. I watched as she grew further and further angry. Her skin was turning a reddish color.

“Where the hell did you put it, Potter?!” She yelled in frustration, throwing a couch pillow at my head. I caught it with ease. I was used to her throwing the quaffle at me.

“Put what?” I hissed. She sighed, throwing her arms up in the air in frustration. She took off towards my bedroom, stomping her feet as she went. I’ll admit that I stared at her butt. She shook it just the right way. Americans.

“My lucky bra, Potter! I know you took it out of my locker last night!” She yelled from my bedroom. I stood in the doorway, eyeing her as she began to open my drawers. Nothing she hadn’t seen, I suppose.

“You have a lucky bra?” I asked her. I saw her face turning red in my dresser mirror. I smirked at her back as she opened another drawer, slamming it shut after looking through it.

“That’s not the point. The point is I’m not playing without it,” She said into a drawer.

“You Americans and your bloody superstitions,” I mumbled, leaning on the door frame. Yes, I did look cool. She grunted, slamming my last dresser drawer shut.

“Where the hell is it?” She asked through clenched teeth. I smiled.

“Maybe if you asked nicely-“

“So you did take it!” She exclaimed, coming towards me angrily.

“No, I didn’t! I wasn’t even in the locker rooms last night, Jacobs.” She stopped advancing on me. I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. She sat down on the edge of my bed, running a hand through her thick brown hair. I had the same exact habit. I smiled to myself, but immediately hid it when she looked up at me.

“Who was then?” She asked. I shrugged.

Last night was an easy night for me. Freddie came over. We talked about old pranks we used to play back in school. He helped me perfect my captain’s handshake. We smack talked the Germans for a good while. We ate far too much junk food for it to be right. He let me rant about Gigi. I let him rant about some random girl he was going on a date with. All I remember was that she was a big Falcon’s fan. Because of that, I had given him the keys to the stadium so that he could woo her.

“Oh fuck,” I said. There wasn’t any way that Freddie would steal Gigi’s lucky bra, right?

“What did you do.” Gigi demanded, standing up quickly and crossing the room. I racked my brain for more Freddie had said about this girl.

Met her in WWW. Big Falcon’s fan. Nice rack. Nice arse. Great combination. Just like Gigi. Speaking of Gigi…she was Gigi’s biggest fan. Oh fuck. She was going to kill me. Or Freddie. I hoped she would go after Freddie. Afterall, our reserve chasers sucked.

“I think Freddie’s date took your bra,” I said slowly, hoping she wouldn’t blow up. She was silent. Too silent. She was staring straight at my face, but was looking right through me. She was thinking. I was actually very afraid.

“Why the hell does Freddie’s date have my bra?!” She shrieked. I was pretty sure that she broke my windows. I glanced behind her head to see the window still in tact. Well, it was barely in place. I swear it would fall out with one more shriek.

“Well, let’s go find out from him, yeah?” I said. This couldn’t get much worse, right?

“I will rip you apart, Weasley. I will tear you a new one. You better pray that this whore gives me my bra without any trouble, or so help me-“

“I think he got the point.”

“Do you want to see the game today, Potter? I advise you keep your fat mouth shut,” Gigi hissed, turning her menacing glare on me. I sank under the stare. You’re on your own, Freddie.

“She was cool. I’m sure she’ll give it back without any trouble,” Freddie shrugged, pushing the lift button to floor 3. This felt like déjà vu. I just couldn’t figure out why.

“You better hope she does,” Gigi mumbled, crossing her arms.

“Are you done PMSing yet?” I hissed, feeling my anger bubble up. I was still mad at her no matter if she was threatening to chop my head off.

“Are you done?” She countered. I stared at her incredulously.

“Excuse me?” I hissed. She was about to open her mouth when the lift doors slid open with a ding noise.

“First door right there,” Freddie said, pointing at a wooden mahogany door. Gigi went straight for it, pounding heavily on it with her fist.

“Isn’t that Rose’s apartment?” I asked. I knew I recognized the puke green carpets and the off-white walls.

“Yup,” Freddie said, not faultering as he watched Gigi continue to pound.

“Oh that’s disgusting!” I hissed. Gigi was yelling now. I had a disgusting image in my head of Freddie and Rose. “You realize she’s your cousin, right?!”

“She was bloody hot. When has someone being our cousin ever stopped me before?” Freddie said. I think I was going to vomit.

Gigi was about to knock again, but Rose pulled open the door. Her wild red hair was stuck up in every direction. She wasn’t wearing any bit of make up (she rarely did anyways), but it looked like we had woken her up. She was wrapped in a red bath robe, her brown eyes narrowed on Gigi. I checked my watch. 8 A.M. Rose probably had the day off anyways. It felt like she never worked.

“She has my bra,” Gigi stated, pushing past Rose. Rose was so dumb-founded by Gigi’s statement that she easily moved when I walked in behind Gigi.

“Your bra?” Rose repeated. Gigi nodded her head, crossing her arm as Freddie closed the door behind all of us.

“Her lucky bra,” I corrected. Rose raised her eyebrows at Gigi.

“I’m not playing without it,” Gigi said, holding her ground.

“How’d she get it?” Rose asked, going into her open kitchen and starting a pot of tea.

“Well, James gave me the key to the stadium,” Freddie began. I felt Rose’s glare on me. I could even sense Gigi giving me mental slaps. “We went to the locker room. She wanted to see Gigi’s locker. We….well, you know. Then when we were getting dressed, she must have snuck it out of her locker.”

Only Freddie.

“OI AIMEE!” Rose shouted down her hallway. “GET YOUR ARSE OUT HERE!”

A few moments later, Aimee Woods came down the narrow hallway. Her dirty blonde hair was tied up in a messy bun on top of her head. Her skin was kissed by the sun and her blue eyes stared right at Freddie, a large smirk on her full lips. She was absolutely gorgeous. I understood why Freddie had picked her for such a big evening. She was probably amazing in the sack.

Suddenly her eyes met Gigi. They grew to the size of quaffles. Her jaw dropped and she froze on spot. I’ve never seen such a beautiful woman stopped by another woman. I grinned to myself. That could be quite interesting. I wanted to send the image to Freddie. He’d probably get just as much enjoyment from it as I did.

“You’re Gigi Jacobs!” She squealed, nearly skipping forward. Gigi was standing her ground, however. She crossed her arms as Aimee came forward, glaring at her.

“You have something of mine,” She hissed in a menacing voice. I backed up slightly. I wasn’t going to get in her way.

“W-what?” Aimee stuttered at Gigi’s tone. She glanced at Freddie, at Rose, and then at me.

“My lucky bra! Where is it?” Gigi growled, advancing forward a bit. Yes, she was very intimidating. Aimee blinked a few times in confusion.

“That bra I took last night was her lucky bra?” Aimee asked Freddie. Freddie nodded, but seemed not to want to get involved either. Smart choice, Freddie.

“You know how much that is worth? I could sell it for hundreds of galleons,” Aimee mused. Even I knew this wasn’t going to end pretty. Gigi’s lips twitched in anger.

“What do you want?” I asked Aimee. I dug in my pocket, pulling out a few galleons. I offered them to her. She shook her head.

“Then what?” Gigi snapped. She smirked and pointed right at Gigi.

“You.” She said simply. Freddie laughed loudly at this comment.

“Yes!” He cheered. I pictured Gigi and Aimee, clothes off, and rolling around with each other. I grinned at Freddie, but refrained from saying anything. I’d get smacked most likely.

“You’re disgusting, Freddie!” Rose scolded, smacking Freddie on the back of his head. See, that could’ve been me.

“What do you want from me?” Gigi asked, growing very impatient. I would say her impatience was hot if I wasn’t so mad at her.

“I want box seats to every game this season. I want hot waiters taking care of me every single game. Away games I want to be on the field. More importantly…” She paused for dramatic effect. I looked at Gigi who’s face was growing redder with each word. “I want a date with him.”

Gigi’s face turned towards me, her eyes wide. Even when she was shocked, she was beautiful. Her big green eyes were the size of saucers. Her smooth olive skin was begging me to touch her cheek. She had small freckles over her nose that I only noticed when I was inches away from her face. Her full lips were begging for me to kiss her again.

“Him?” She hissed. I glanced around and saw everyone staring at me. Then it hit me.

“You want a date with me?” I asked incredulously. Aimee nodded, eyeing me up and down. Suddenly I felt dirty. I didn’t want to imagine Aimee Woods wrapped around my arm. I didn’t want to see her smiling at me or going in for a kiss. That was reserved for Gigi.

“As flattering as that is, I don’t think-“ I began, but Gigi cut in like a knife.

“Fine.”

“Fine?!” I barked. Gigi nodded, holding her jaw tight and letting no expression cross over her face.

“A private date. No one can see the two of you together. I don’t want people to think I’m getting cheated on,” Gigi said, ignoring my comment. She didn’t even glance at me.

“Fine by me,” Aimee said, walking away into her bedroom.

“Gigi, what the hell,” I said, crossing the room and standing next to her. She sighed, looking up at me.

“What are you complaining about? You get another slut under your belt. Michelle can’t be the only one, right?” Gigi hissed. I felt her cold glare on me. I felt the anger bubbling up on me. The green monster was a heavy weight on my shoulder.

“Look who’s talking. As I recall you’re the one who was engaged,” I growled in her ear. I didn’t want Freddie or Rose to hear us fight.

“Was,” She emphasized.

“Once a slag, always a slag.” I told her. Gigi froze, not responding to my words. I felt her body to stiff next to me. Aimee came out of her bedroom, holding a lacy, red bra in between her fingers. I raised my eyebrows when she tossed it to Gigi.

“I’ll see you at the game, Captain,” Gigi hissed, shoving past me and out of the door. She slammed the door so hard behind her that a picture fell off the wall and shattered on the floor. Something told me that this game was going to be about more than just Quidditch.
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AUTHOR'S NOTE: Mad at me? Please take it easy on me. I know I haven't updated in a while, but I was away on a trip to Italy! It was a surprise engagement surprise thing... I don't know how else to explain it. Totally romantic and the works. But anyways, what do you think of getting things from James's point of view? Should I do it more often or stick to Gigi? Let me know what you guys think!